


The Family Way

by FuchsiaMae



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, F/M, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuchsiaMae/pseuds/FuchsiaMae
Summary: Inspired by silverstreams's fic, "Bear." Blame her.





	The Family Way

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by silverstreams's fic, "Bear." Blame her.

She wasn’t that kind of girl.

This didn’t happen to people like her.

She caught herself thinking it and stopped. What did that mean, people like her? Respectable people? Good people? She’d done a lot of things that _people like her_ wouldn’t. That was what got her here.

Maybe she was that kind of girl.

She'd tried to be careful. She _was_ careful. Always, even when he complained, until she could enter the drug trial—which she’d done right away, without a second thought, not even considering what “experimental” could mean. Ten thousand to one, they said. Apparently she was that lucky one.

But she wasn’t going to panic. She wasn’t some scared kid in a cautionary tale. She was a grown woman with a head on her shoulders. Pragmatic Caroline, poised and competent Caroline, the backbone of Aperture Science. She was better than this.

She was supposed to be better than this.

Her first thought, of course, was that no one could know. Her second was that of course someone had to know, even just the doctor, unless she was brave or foolish enough to do it alone. She had to be discreet about this. Maybe find someone outside the facility. That would be hard, considering it was _illegal_ and she had no idea how to even begin, but it was the safest way to keep things quiet.

Then she realized what she was thinking and felt sick with fear.

But what were her options, really? Disappear for a year with no explanation? Everyone would guess. Stay and let them all see her—no, she couldn’t even contemplate that.

 _“Ramps are expensive,”_ said a familiar voice in her head. Her boss once fired a man for being wheelchair-bound after a workplace accident. He once fired a man for requesting to leave work when his wife went into labor. What would he say about this?

She imagined shock. Then shouting. An extra big show, so no one would know he was involved, although they’d guess it anyway—or maybe sincere anger at her betrayal, for forgetting her duty to the company. How dare she do this to him? Screaming at her to pack her things and get the hell out. Or maybe, if she was very lucky, a quiet agreement to a few months off, with the understanding she’d return immediately sans baggage.

But no. She knew exactly what he’d say, and it was worse.

Her boss would be overjoyed. He would sweep her up in his arms and kiss her like crazy. He would dance her around the room, laugh and hug her tight. He would trumpet it proudly from the rooftops for the world to hear. The poor sweet idiot might even try to marry her.

And then what? Lock her behind white picket bars for the rest of her life? Lose her value to the company? Or try to keep working under the burden of her shame?

He wouldn’t consider any of that. He wasn’t a practical man.

That was her job.

Smoothing out details. Making problems go away. She did it a hundred times a day. What was one more? She’d never even have to tell the man. No sense worrying him over something so inconsequential to the company.

It wasn’t even a choice, really. She could tell herself that. This was risky, and it might cost her life, but the alternative was a life not worth living. An unknown variable she didn’t even _want,_ or the safety and stability of everything she loved. It or Aperture.

The answer was simple. Aperture, every time. No matter the risk.

She poured herself a glass of gin and sank into a very hot bath.

* * *

No doctor in-state would do it, of course. She thought again about going to the facility’s medical wing, but discretion won out over convenience. Instead she said her aunt had died, and booked a flight to New York City.

There the hotel phonebook directed her to a clinic, where she found herself in a little room, on a metal folding chair, alone with a clinic volunteer. She couldn’t remember her last moment alone with another woman. She poured her heart out to the stranger, who held her hand as she trembled.

From there she was directed to a sympathetic doctor. For an exorbitant sum paid in cash—she understood the risks and paid without complaint—she was welcomed in from the waiting room. His office was cold and so were his hands. But he helped her, and after weeks of cold fear, that was all she cared about.

That night, as she lay in her hotel bed, her pent-up terror released in tears. It was over. She cried with relief.

* * *

He met her at the airport. For the sake of professionalism, she hugged him gingerly, and pulled away before the kiss he wanted. She followed him to the car in chilly silence.

He never liked silence. “How was it?”

“Fine.”

“You have fun?”

“It was a funeral.”

“Right, sure.” A pause. “Did you see family?”

“Yes.”

“You got a big family? Y’know, you’ve never—”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Right.” Another pause. He glanced across the steering wheel to her. “Did you miss me?”

Silence.

“I missed you like crazy. Nothing gets done without you around.”

Silence.

“You just wait till we get home, and I’ll show you how much I missed you.”

“Not tonight, sir.”

“No?”

“It’s that time of the month.”

“Oh. Damn.” Pause again. “Maybe, uh—maybe you can show me that you missed me.”

“Maybe.” Her eyes stared fixedly out the car window.

He chuckled into empty air and started talking about the work she’d missed. Aperture carrying on with life as usual, like nothing had happened. Like she’d been gone a few days and nothing more.   
At first she could hardly hear him over the silence in her head. Then the inner voice of her pragmatism spoke up: _Come on. It’s over. Get back to your life. This is why you did it, right? This is what you wanted. You’re home._

As he talked, she made the appropriate listening noises and laughed in the right spots. Soon she found herself actually listening. Her hold on the present was tenuous, but by the time they got out of the car, her smile felt a little less forced. He was always good at making her smile.

* * *

Months later, after they lost a third secretary in six weeks to marital bliss, he said to her, “Don’t you even think about eloping, now. Don’t you dare.”

“I would never.”

“I know, I know. Just wanna make sure _you_ know that Aperture would come down around my ears if you ran off with some man.”

She shrugged as she poured them a couple of drinks. “You’d be fine without me.”

“I absolutely would not. You keep me on the ball. Best assistant a man could ever have.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Just say thank you and take the compliment, Caroline. You know I don’t give ‘em for free.”

“Thank you, sir.” She brought him his whiskey neat, and kept one for herself. “Do you ever think about it?”

“About what, you getting stolen away? All the time. Keeps me up at night.” She couldn’t tell if he was teasing.

“I mean about getting married.”

“Oh.” He said it as if it had never occurred to him. “Well sure, eventually. When the right girl comes along. Right now, though, we’ve got science to do.”

“Of course. But eventually?”

“I wouldn’t go putting money on it anytime soon. I’m a busy man. And it’s hard to find a girl who likes playing second fiddle,” he added with a chuckle. “Aperture always comes first.”

“Of course.” She paused carefully. “You don’t think about having children?”

“Sure I do. Eventually. Gotta have a Cave Johnson, Jr. to run the place someday.” He looked at her. “Why, do you think I should get a move on?”

“Oh no, sir, that’s not what I meant.”

“Good.” He rose from behind the desk and sidled over to where she stood. “‘Cause you’re a big ol’ reason why I’m not out looking for Miss Right.” He clapped a hand on her ass.

She flinched. He wrapped his arms around her, and it took her a moment to relax against him. “Why’s that?” she asked.

“Well, let’s think about what a man wants a woman for. To get married and have kids, that’s one thing, I’ll do that later. All the _other_ stuff…” He nuzzled her hair. “I have you.”

“I don’t want to keep you from the future Mrs. Johnson.”

“She’ll get over it.” She felt his breath on her ear. “Not like I’d give you up anyway. Aperture first, remember?”

“You’ll be busy with Junior.”

“Nah, that’s what his mama’s for. I’ll be working late with you, just like always.”

His hands rested heavily on her hips. She felt him lean in to kiss her neck, but didn’t tilt her head for him. “Would it really be so terrible if I got married?”

“It’d be a disaster. Catastrophic. If some man convinced you to be his little woman? I’d puke.” He squeezed her playfully. “Why, are you stepping out on science?”

“No, of course not.” She shrank in on herself, as if cold. “I may not be wife material, but you don’t have to be melodramatic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’d be a disaster?”

“No!” He turned her around to face him. “Kid, that’s not what I mean. I mean—” He sighed, smiling. “It’d be like—like using a racehorse to pull a plow. Y’know? Any woman can cook and clean and pop out babies. _You_ , though—you’re something special. You’re a prize, Caroline. You’re one in a million. And it would be a crime to let some man waste you.” He touched his forehead to hers. “You belong right here, doing science. With me. Understand?”

She almost smiled in return. “Yes sir.”

He stroked her cheek. “Promise me something.”

“Yes sir?”

“Promise me you’ll never ever let marriage or babies or any of that girly crap take you away from science. You’re too good for that.”

She met his eyes. “I promise.”


End file.
